


and where no one sees us

by ciuucalata



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-02 07:08:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20271955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ciuucalata/pseuds/ciuucalata
Summary: “Care for a dance, angel?”Aziraphale’s fingers freeze at the nape of Crowley’s neck. “Oh! Oh, my dear, you know dancing isn’t my forte.”





	and where no one sees us

**Author's Note:**

> Me: this is gonna be a small ficlet about them dancing
> 
> Me, a month later and over 2k words: why are you like this?

It is a slow day, like most days are for Aziraphale and his bookshop. Crowley usually doesn’t mind this since whenever it happens, they just spend all day talking and laughing. Today, though, Aziraphale insisted that he has to reorganize his books.

“Can’t you just miracle them wherever you want to put them?” he asked as soon as he walked inside the bookshop and saw the angel taking books out of a bookshelf.

Aziraphale laughed and shook his head a little. “My dear, it’s simply not the same,” he said and went on ignoring Crowley.

Crowley has been sitting on the couch for the last two hours and forty-eight minutes and he thinks he is going mad from boredom. Even watching Aziraphale moving around and making delighted sounds whenever he finds a book that he forgot about gets dull after so much time.

He gets it, though. Aziraphale rearranging his books by himself gives him the same satisfaction Crowley feels after he washes the Bentley by himself. There’s something about doing it the normal human way that feels just right. And the peacefulness that has settled gradually in the bookshop is kind of nice, relaxing. It’s exactly one of those moments that remind Crowley that now they have all of eternity to do whatever they want since Heaven and Hell let them be all those years ago after the world didn’t end.

This reminder would normally just make him smile and then he would close his eyes and nap until Aziraphale gets tired of moving so many books. Then they would either go out to eat or stay in and drink the whole night. Routines are nice and easy to follow, and Crowley has nothing against them.

Today, though, he wants something different and he wants Aziraphale’s undivided attention. Today is one of those days where he wants pats and compliments and he wants to be kissed, bless it! But he can’t get none of those because, at the moment, the books are more important to Aziraphale.

He sighs as he follows Aziraphale with his eyes, moving from one part of the bookshop to another. 

“Angel!” he calls after him but Aziraphale either doesn’t hear him, or ignores him. “Angeeel,” he tries again, this time adding more whine in his voice. Again, Aziraphale doesn’t look at him. Crowley waits until Aziraphale passes by the couch and he reaches out a hand to grasp the hem of Aziraphale’s jacket. That, finally, stops the angel and makes him turn to look puzzled at Crowley. “Sweetheart,” Crowley says, smiling when the expected blush appears on Aziraphale’s cheeks.

“Yes, my dear?” He moves the pile of book to only one arm and he gives the other hand to Crowley. He takes it and bring it to his lips, not looking away from Aziraphale’s eyes even when he feels a blush rising on his own cheeks. He sees Aziraphale’s eye soften and he feels the triumph that he finally won over those blessed books.

“I’m getting bored, angel,” he says against Aziraphale’s knuckles.

“Oh! Oh, love,” Aziraphale says as an apology. He looks from Crowley to the mess he made inside the bookshop and his hand tightens around Crowley’s. “I’m really sorry, my dear, but I do want to finish this as quickly as possible.”

Crowley groans, loud and obnoxious because he knows Aziraphale hates it when he’s dramatic, and he throws his head over the back of the couch. He lets go of the angel’s hand when he tugs it free.

“I promise I’ll make it up to you,” Aziraphale says, sounding closer to Crowley’s ears than before. When he gets his head back up, Aziraphale’s face is definitely closer than it used to be, and his eyes hold a teasing glimmer. He gives Crowley a quick but sweet kiss on the lips, and then he turns back to his work, leaving a blushing demon to look surprised after him.

“I expect to be treated to one of your finest wines tonight, angel!”

Aziraphale’s reply is a fond laughter.

Crowley can’t wipe the big smile that appears on his face and, honestly, he doesn’t even want to do that. He sighs as he goes back to following Aziraphale around the bookshop with his eyes, feeling satisfied enough for now.

When Aziraphale passes once again in front of the couch, free of books this time, he stops for a few seconds to pass his fingers through Crowley’s hair. Crowley almost melts from it, and he is sure that if he were a cat instead of a snake, he would have purred embarrassingly loud.

He is starting to reconsider that nap and he is close to nodding off, when a loud thump wakes him up. He hears Aziraphale muttering under his breath as he cleans up whatever mess he created. A small smile tugs at his lips as he opens his eyes to watch Aziraphale fret over his books, but before he can find his angel, his eyes lock on Aziraphale’s old and dusty gramophone.

He only hesitates for a couple seconds before he snaps his fingers and music starts playing. Slowly at first, but then as it gains a little confidence since no ones seems to mind it, the song starts playing loud enough to be appreciated, but also softly to let Crowley nap.

Except Crowley isn’t sleepy anymore. The song played on the gramophone isn’t one of Aziraphale’s old pieces, and it isn’t one of Crowley’s either. It is still a familiar one, though, however he can’t quite remember where he heard it.

“Is this… Romanian?” Aziraphale asks, frozen in the middle of picking up the books that fell.

“Mmhmm,” Crowley replies, having the same realization as Aziraphale. He stretches, slumping more comfortably among the cushions.

“Oh, my.” He puts the books back on the floor, an unfocused expression appearing in his eyes. “I was just thinking about it after finding one of Eminescu’s poetry collection. Such a lovely little country. Pity i haven’t been there in a long time. Their cozonaci are delightful.” His face lights up with a big smile before he goes back to picking up the books. “Have you visited it, my dear?”

“Yeah, I’ve actually been there recently.” 

“Oh, really?”

“Mmhmm, I stayed there for a couple years in the 1930s. I don’t know a lot about their food, but they had really great alcohol. All homemade and stronger than any other kind of alcohol I’ve consumed.” He grins and Aziraphale, who is the wine drinker between the two of them, sends him a disapproving look. Crowley shrugs at him.

“We should go there together someday,” Aziraphale suggests, finally having picked up all the books. He straightens and brushes off the dust from his pants.

“I’d love to,” Crowley admits honestly because there is no more need for him to hide anything. When Aziraphale turns to smile softly at him, Crowley can’t do anything but smile back. “Oh, I have to take you to my favorite pub if it’s still there. The vișinată they made there is… how to put it?” He looks up, as if looking for the perfect description, and then he returns to look at Aziraphale, a smirk on his face. “Simply divine.”

“Oh, shut up!” Aziraphale says, turning his back to Crowley to go on with his work. Not before Crowley is able to catch his smile, though.

Crowley laughs quietly in his corner of the bookshop. Jokes aside, though, he really craves some of that vișinată now. It’s really hard to find since it’s mostly a homemade beverage.

“I’ve never heard these songs,” Aziraphale considers after a long stretch of comfortable silence as he goes up the ladder that helps him reach the higher shelves. Crowley follows him with his eyes and waits until Aziraphale is on the last step to reply.

“They’re just songs that made me think of you while I was living there.”

If he is being honest, Crowley expected some kind of flustered reaction from Aziraphale, maybe some pink ears and some stammering. What he did not expect to happen was for Aziraphale’s wing to spring into existence, causing him to lose his balance and fall in the heap of books on the floor.

Crowley’s amusement disappears in the blink of an eye and he rushes over to help Aziraphale. “Shit, angel. Are you okay?” He puts a hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder, softly because he doesn’t want to touch something that possibly got hurt.

Aziraphale coughs a little as all the book dust settles back in its place and on the angel. “Yes, yes. I’m perfectly fine, dear. Just startled.” Crowley still has his fingers resting on Aziraphale’s shoulder and they tighten around it involuntary when Aziraphale meets his eyes. 

What they are right now, compared to what they have been for the last six thousand years, is new. He has been in love with this fool for thousands of years so now that he can act freely on his feelings, he doesn’t want to waste a second. And Crowley sometimes might look like he has his emotions under control, but that’s not actually true. There are many times when he does something and ends up more flustered than Aziraphale. Or sometimes, Aziraphale would do something that seems to come so naturally to him that Crowley’s mind shuts down.

Like right now, for example.

Like the look of pure love and adoration the angel has in his eyes as he looks up at Crowley from the dusty pile of books. Like the brilliant smile that blooms on his face as the seconds of silence stretch. Like the pleasantly surprised tonality his voice takes as he asks Crowley, “These songs made you think of me?”

Crowley opens his mouth several times, and he really tries to say something, but the words just aren’t cooperating with him right now. He isn’t just speechless, he also lost the capability to form coherent thoughts while Aziraphale’s love in this second feels as if it’s something that he can cup in his hands.

Aziraphale’s smile, somehow, turns both teasing and soft at the same time. “Love,” he says, knowing exactly what he is doing to Crowley’s poor human heart. “You’re too good to me.”

Crowley gives up entirely on trying to make his words work and leans forwards, hiding his face in Aziraphale’s chest. “And you’re such a bastard,” he mumbles into the fabric. He can feel Aziraphale’s laugh on his cheek.

The position they are in isn’t particularly comfortable, but neither of them move for some time. Aziraphale’s fingers comb slowly through Crowley’s hair and Crowley is trying to make his heartbeat match Aziraphale’s when the song changes to one he is particularly fond of.  He hums along with it until he finds his mouth asking, “ Care for a dance, angel?”

Aziraphale’s fingers freeze at the nape of Crowley’s neck. “Oh! Oh, my dear, you know dancing isn’t my forte.”

Crowley rises just enough so that Aziraphale can see him rolling his eyes. 

“Mine either.” Aziraphale gives him a look as if to disapprove with that statement, but Crowley ignores it. “But it’s only you, me, your mountains of books and two centuries old dust. There’s no one that can see us embarrass ourselves.”

He gets back on his feet and brushes off the dust from his clothes. Aziraphale looks up at him, uncertain and yet excited at the same time. Crowley can’t help but smile at him as he holds out a hand towards Aziraphale. 

There is no more hesitation in Aziraphale’s eyes as he takes the offered hand. Crowley squeezes Aziraphale’s fingers in encouragement and they smile at each other.

“How are we doing this, then?” Aziraphale asks, looking at their intertwined hands. 

Crowley guides the hand he’s holding to his shoulder,  Aziraphale’s eyes following it before he meets Crowley’s, and puts his other hand around Aziraphale’s middle. “Follow my lead, for now, angel.” He grins  as he takes the first step forward, which forces Aziraphale to take a step back. Then he takes a little spent sideways with his other foot, guiding Aziraphale to do the same. “Alright, now you take a step forward with your right foot.”

Aziraphale does as he’s told, if a little awkwardly, and Crowley takes the necessary step backwards. When Aziraphale looks up from their feet to meet Crowley’s eyes, he chuckles. It’s a little embarrassed and a little fascinated, and it makes something open and tighten at the same time inside Crowley’s chest. He briefly wonders if this is what humans mean by being love-struck.

He repeats the first step, never taking his eyes off of Aziraphale’s face even when the angel returns to looking at their feet. 

They keep repeating the same steps until Aziraphale clumsily gets the hang of it, letting Crowley turn him this way and that. What they’re doing can’t really be called a waltz, it’s too graceless, too much foot stepping from Aziraphale’s part and too many swirls from Crowley’s part. He has to admit he is out of practice, but it’s nice, it’s fun so it makes it perfect for him.

The song doesn’t require that kind of fancy dancing, anyway. It’s more easygoing and affectionate. It’s the kind of song you hear one day in a pub while you’re out drinking; the kind of song that makes you go  _ huh _ as the lyrics sink in; the kind of song that makes you wish you had someone to dance with or at least someone with whom you can exchange smiles and knowing looks. When Crowley first heard this song, he imagined dancing with Aziraphale - of course, how could he not? -, but he never believed that that fantasy would actually become reality not even a century later. Yet here they are. Free for now and able to love and be loved without worry.

“Ah, dear, you’re going too fast for me,” Aziraphale says as he steps on one of Crowley’s feet, and then he freezes. Crowley stops moving too, and when he looks at Aziraphale’s mortified face, he can’t help but laugh.

“Do I, now?” He gathers the angel closer to his body and they start dancing once again. If it isn’t as energetic as it was before, neither comment on it.

“I’m afraid this old body of mine just isn’t used to moving like that anymore,” Aziraphale sighs and puts his head on Crowley’s chest.

Crowley hums, not bothering to remind him that his body has always been this old.

Still feeling the amusement at Aziraphale’s reaction to his own slip of tongue,  he says, “I’ll try going by your pace, then.”

“Oh, Crowley, you know you don’t have to do that anymore.”

“If you say so.” He takes Aziraphale’s hand that is still on his shoulder and brings it briefly to his lips before resting it on his chest, just above his heartbeat.  “I love you, angel,” he says. Because he wants to. Because he can. Because he isn’t going too fast anymore. Because, finally,  _ finally _ , Aziraphale can say it back.

“I love you, too, my dear.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! I hope you enjoyed it :D 
> 
> you can also find me on tumblr [@ciuucalata](https://ciuucalata.tumblr.com/)


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